Love in a Photograph
by jam821
Summary: Some moments stay with us forever.


_This is marked tragedy for a reason. Consider this your warning. xo_

* * *

 _Loving can hurt  
Loving can hurt sometimes  
But it's the only thing that I know  
When it gets hard  
You know it can get hard sometimes  
It is the only thing that makes us feel ali_ve

 _Ed Sheeran - Photograph_

He finds the box on a Tuesday. Nothing special about it. The day, that is. But the box. Well, the box is special.

It's wrapped in silver snowflakes and red ribbon, the paper folded and taped with patience and reverence. And that's just like her.

Every move calculated, planned, the goal being a simple but perfectly wrapped gift.

He wants to open it, of course, pokes his head out of the closet to see if he'll get caught, but the girls are upstairs, his bedroom quiet. The tip of his finger dips just below one flap, but he stops and closes his eyes.

 _Like a nine year old on a sugar rush._

When it comes to gifts, especially those from Kate, patience is not his strength.

She's not like that. Opposites attract as they say, and because of this, he waits, opening his eyes and removing his finger from the flap, smoothing it back down.

She'd want him to wait.

He rubs his thumb over the card, his name written so elegantly in her hand, and sets the box on the shelf.

Tipping his head back, he takes a deep breath, pushing it all down. His love for her hits him hard sometimes, so hard he can barely breathe. It's too much today, and the words escape, whispered into the abyss.

"I love you, Kate."

* * *

"Daddy!"

The sound of his little girl's voice startles him from the chasm he's sunk into since finding the gift. He rises from the floor of the closet, stepping clear of the doorway only to be met by the force that is his baby girl wrapping herself around his knees.

She turns her face up to him, her eyes so matched to her mother's that he almost collapses under the truth of his life.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asks, hoping she doesn't notice the rough quality to his voice.

Anna smiles, her eyes bright and clear, and he envies her, envies the freedom that comes with her innocence. Just three years old, and right now she doesn't know, doesn't quite understand.

"Can we go see the big tree today? And then go see Mommy? I want to tell her all about it."

"Tell Mom…" he stutters and stops, unable to complete the thought as he drops to his knees, pulling her into a hug that's probably too tight. "Oh, my sweet girl. Of course we can go see the big tree. Of course."

She wriggles in his grip, tilting her head back and placing both little palms on his cheeks. "I love you," she says, and he aches with it.

One quick kiss and she's gone, racing up the stairs in search of her sister and leaving him torn open, his heart ripped to shreds.

Because for a moment all he could see in her was Kate. Kate's eyes, Kate's smile, Kate's voice saying those same words.

* * *

Rockefeller is packed when they finally arrive, tourists and natives mixed together in the need to partake in this most perfect "Christmas in New York" pastime. The Norway Spruce stands at ninety feet this year, the tallest it's been since the late nineties, and Castle slows in awe of it all.

He tightens his grip on the girls' hands, Audrey and Anna bouncing along beside him in their excitement as they near the tree. It's majestic; the colored lights twinkle, the white star up top bright against the night sky, and both his girls ooh and ahh with each step closer.

They're thrumming with it, his sweet, beautiful girls bubbling with holiday cheer, the spirit of the season, and he wonders if this feeling will ever leave him. The dichotomy of his favorite time of year and knowing it'll never be the same again. It'll never be complete.

"Daddy, can you take our picture?"

He looks down to see both his babies focused on him, one pair of ice blue eyes and the other a rich hazel, and allows a smile to form for them. He'd promised her, promised to be strong, to accept the future, to keep writing their story, and to give their girls the home, the family, they deserve.

"Of course," he says, fishing his phone from his pocket, opening the camera app and freezing the moment. "Now come here. Let's do one together."

Kneeling down to their level, he wraps one arm around Audrey's bony shoulder, tucking her close while Anna snuggles in on the other side. He drops a kiss to both their foreheads in turn before holding one arm straight out for the selfie. "Say, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" they both squeal, dissolving into a fit of giggles as the camera shutter sounds.

He pulls up the image, can't help the small smile when he sees it, sees how he's trying, how the girls are still happy. They'll never be the same, none of them will, but he's going to make damn sure they know how much they're loved, how precious they both are to himself and to Kate.

* * *

It's three weeks later when he pulls the box from the closet again. Christmas Eve with the whole family under his roof, almost everyone already asleep as he and Jim finish preparing for tomorrow morning. Castle wasn't sure his father in law would come this year, but when he'd swung the door open to see the man standing in the hallway, he'd lost all sense of self-control, dragging Jim into the loft and wrapping him in a bear hug.

"What's this?" Jim asks as Castle reenters the living room, gesturing to Kate's gift. Castle slows his approach to the older man's place at the base of the tree, hesitating to reveal the truth about what he's holding.

But he never wants to be tiptoed around, and so he refuses to treat the other most important man in Kate's life with such disrespect. They may not be the same, but if there's anyone who knows, anyone who understands the position Castle is in now, it's Jim. The bond they share is one he'd never expected, never considered, but it's reality.

"Uh, I found it in our closet. It's my gift from-" he stalls, feeling the crack in his voice and swallowing it down, forces the rest of the sentence out, "It's from Kate."

Jim's face falls at the mention of her name, and he nods, turning back to the tree without another word. Presents for the two littlest girls and for Alexis and her husband are arranged haphazardly beneath the Douglas Fir, the lights reflecting off the wrapping paper, and he adds Kate's gift to the pile, wishing not for the first time that she were here.

But enough of that. No sense in dwelling on the impossible.

"When did you take this?" Jim asks.

Castle shifts his gaze to find the older man holding a framed copy of the photo he and the girls had taken at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree, smiling when he catches sight of the image. It's become one of his favorite family pictures because, when he had looked back at it later that day, after Audrey and Anna had been tucked into bed, he'd been reminded of Kate's little stick man.

 _Even on the worst days, there's a possibility for joy._

"Couple weeks back. Anna asked to go see the tree."

"Mmm. It is impressive this year."

"Yeah," Castle agrees.

"It was Kate's favorite Christmas pastime as a child, back before… Before we lost Johanna," Jim starts, his eyes glazed over with the memories, "She used to beg me to take her all the time. Every day after dinner, on the weekends. And no matter how many times I would say yes, she'd still want more. She could sit there for hours, watching the lights, watching the people."

Smiling at that image of little Katie Beckett, Castle gets comfortable on the living room floor, leaning back against the sofa as Jim continues.

"Then after Jo died and I deserted her, I think she let go of that love of the season." Jim pauses, angling his head and catching Castle's gaze, "Until she met you, of course."

"Me?"

Jim nods, looking back at the photo and smiling before setting it on the fireplace mantle and taking a seat in one of the living room chairs. Castle takes a sip from his water glass as he watches Jim flex his fingers in his lap, as though he has more to say and is trying to work out how.

"She was lost, Rick. You know this. Abandoned in too many ways, buried so deep in the worst parts of her past. You pulled her out of that, built this beautiful life with her."

Castle swallows the grief, the ever-present heartbreak he'd always felt for how deeply she'd been beat on by the universe, how strong she'd been in the face of so much tragedy. Despite her occasional stumbles, the sporadic falls back into her own personal rabbit hole, she'd tried so hard to be the best version of herself.

For him, for their future.

Fuck, he misses her.

The strangled sob escapes before he can stop it, and he buries his head in his hands, attempting to hide his pain from his wife's father.

He's supposed to be better than this. He needs to be better than this.

It's not surprising when Jim's hand appears over his shoulder, patting the muscles rife with tension and stress, but Castle doesn't brush him off, doesn't push him away. He just needs a minute to feel this, to let some of it out before he can put the lid back on the box and shove it to the side.

"I know it wasn't long enough, son. I know you want more time. But let me tell you this, the bit of time that you did have, the love that you offered her… I couldn't have asked for a better man for my daughter, a better man to raise my grandchildren."

Castle sucks in a ragged breath, the ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment, with each compliment that he doesn't feel worthy of receiving.

"How do you do this?" he asks, desperate for the answer, for a cure, even though he knows it's not that simple. "How do you live with this day in and day out? I just want my wife back."

And for the first time in over a decade, he sees Jim's calm, steady exterior crack. A tear slips from the man's eye, his mouth turning down into frown as he shrugs.

"Just like that. One day at a time. There's never a moment when I don't hurt, when I don't wish I could go back and do something to change it. If I had picked her up at the office instead of letting her walk home. What if I'd pushed her to tell me about what she was working on? Maybe I could have saved her."

"I was there, though. I should have been able to save her." Castle pounds his fist into the floor, that old familiar guilt settling on his shoulders.

If only he'd been faster, gotten to her first. If only he'd been a better partner.

"Now you listen to me, Rick. You can't feed that feeling. It takes work, but you absolutely cannot give in to that. Guilt and blame will eat you alive, you'll lose those girls upstairs, and then you'll never forgive yourself."

Nodding, Castle digs his palms into both eyes until he sees stars. He knows this. As much as he's come to love his father in law, he never wants to repeat Jim's mistakes. Learn from the past, she'd said.

 _Don't leave our babies, Castle._

* * *

An hour after Jim heads up to the guest room, Castle finds himself lying with his head as far under the Christmas Tree as it can get without disturbing the pile of gifts. He and Kate used to do this, used to get comfortable side by side, fingers twined together as they stared at the colored lights.

At first he hadn't really understood it, why she'd wanted to see the tree from this perspective, but he went along with it anyway, delighting in the fact that it was something special she'd chosen to share with him. They'd used the time to be silly, to dream about their future, to make love, and tonight he uses it to think, to rebuild.

The conversation with Jim had left him wrung out, emotionally exhausted, but also surprisingly peaceful. He's sure he'll never stop missing Kate, but there's a little bit of hope there too, just a little bit of joy when he thinks about all the things he's yet to experience with his daughters. It makes each breath come a little easier, and the fist of grief around his heart loosens with every beat.

He can see the corner of her gift in his peripheral and the curiosity strikes again, hard and fast like it had in the closet the day he'd first found it. His watch reads eleven forty-five.

Close enough, right?

Sitting up, he grabs the rectangular box, hands shaking as he touches the places that she must have - edges of the paper, the pieces of tape, the spill of ink forming his name - and for the first time in weeks, he feels close to her again, if only for a moment.

He pops the card off first, tugging open the envelope to pull out a piece of heavy-duty card stock, a cartoon penguin couple adorning the outer cover. Inside, he finds more of her handwriting, the letter filling the blank card from edge to edge, and he feels the hot press of tears again as he reads her words, the ones she hadn't known would be her last.

 _Castle,_

 _I found this on your computer. I know it's not the best gift (what am I supposed to get the man who has everything anyway?), but it just struck me. I imagine that you took this early on, back during the unfortunate stage between my short and long hair. But Castle, look at me. I'm laughing, but it's so much more than that. I'm lighter, freer, and you did that._

He stops there, needing to see what's inside the box to understand what she's talking about. Ripping the paper off, he tugs at the lid to find a four by six framed photograph, and then he understands. She's right; he'd taken this at the precinct one late night, snuck his phone out when she wasn't looking because he'd felt compelled to capture that shy grin.

It had been the first time he'd really felt at home with her, like he wasn't just some annoying tag along, but an actual friend, someone she didn't hate being around.

 _God, I wish I had realized back then. Realized what you meant to me, how happy you were already making me. That smile, that sparkle in my eyes; it's all for you._

 _Because of your heart, your compassion, your ridiculous sense of humor._

 _And your hotness._

 _I guess the photograph isn't really my gift. What I'm actually giving you is my gratitude and my love. Gratitude for seeing me, the real me, not the me that I was trying to pretend to be. You saw behind the wall, saw the messed up, broken pieces of me, and you stuck around anyway._

 _And I'm giving you my complete, unconditional love every single day. Through every up and every down, I'm yours._

 _Castle, I'll never be able to fully express how much you've changed my life, how it feels to wake up next to you every morning, to know I'm coming home to you every night._

 _I'm so thankful for you._

 _And I will love you, always._

 _-Kate_

The tears form twin paths down his cheeks, drip from his chin to stain the paper in his hands, but he doesn't notice, doesn't feel it beneath everything else, beneath the knowledge that she won't be coming back.

She's not coming home this time.

He looks back at the photo, smiling through the pain at the image of his wife frozen in time. Kate's love and spirit housed within the wooden frame, her eyes never closing, her smile never fading.

Even if it was just for a little while, he's lucky to have known her, to have shared a life with her.

The clock strikes midnight, twelve soft chimes echoing through the quiet loft, and Castle rises from his place beside the tree. He walks the familiar path to his bedroom, places Kate's photo on his nightstand, positions the card alongside it, and then crawls into bed, alone.

 _Loving can heal  
Loving can mend your soul  
And it's the only thing that I know  
I swear it will get easier  
Remember that with every piece of you  
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die_

* * *

 _Thanks to Kylie and Jo for the beta and for being my people.  
_

 _And to the rest of you, dear readers, have a happy holiday season. I'll have another piece out soon as an apology for the sad in this one._


End file.
